Matrix Resurrection and Holy Innocents

Today is the Feast of the Holy Innocents, when we remember the first youngest martyrs as well as all the most vulnerable whose lives are taken too soon. It is a very fraught day for me. All month I've been thinking of Tony and Nat, but today I've been trying not to. Of course I failed but I did try. 

We did have a nice family outing to the Huntington though. 

The other day I watched the new Matrix movie. What a nostalgia trip. I felt like an 18 yo again. It brought back to mind a question oft asked to us by Fr. Mark at that time: what is real? I haven’t really thought of that too much lately because everything in my life nowadays has felt perhaps too real. But it is a good reminder. 

As 2021 comes to a close there is much to reflect on. What a year it has been. Omicron is spreading like crazy, and this covid pandemic feels endless. Plus cancer and kiddos and our own little Eucharistic revival as jfj prepares for First Communion... the stress and strains of daily life and work. Growing pains and kids losing innocence faster than I'd like. Aging parents and in-laws. There's a lot going on.

There is also a lot to be grateful for though. I'm trying to remind myself of all the positive and good. It's easy to spot the problems and challenges and the "not enoughs." But there's a lot more than that. Just need to focus.

Christmas homework

 Fr. Alex gave us homework for Christmas Eve Mass... we are to think of the most memorable Christmas gift we have ever received and will share it at the bilingual Christmas Eve Mass on the 24th. 

I can only think of one such memorable present. I received it from "Santa" when I was 7 or 8 years old. It must have been my last "Santa" Christmas. But really it was a gift from Dad. 

The most memorable Christmas present I received was the box set of volumes 1-6 of the Anne of Green Gables books by L.M. Montgomery. It quickly became my favorite book(s) for the following 25 years or so, and I've read it more than I've read the Bible (something I jokingly admitted to JFJ the other day, to which he looked at me with horror saying, "Umma, the Bible is the most important book!" LOL. How dare I...). 

Looking back, this gift is one of only a handful of really specifically positive personal memories I have of my father. He later explained to me how he liked the books in his youth because he had lost his mother early in life and could relate to the orphan Anne. It was a rare conversation that I had with him about his childhood, most of which I learned about from stories told by my mom on his behalf. In a sea of tumultuous memories and adverse childhood experiences with my father, this is one that was surprisingly... tender and vulnerable. And then for decades I found delight, amusement, and thrill in reading and rereading those books of that series. 

Lately I've been reflecting on how little time I have left with my parents. If we're lucky, they will live for another two decades or so. If the last two decades have taught me anything, though, it is that time FLIES. I have far less time left with them than what we've had so far. It's a sobering thought, and one that I try to keep in mind in each of my interactions with them now. I hope the time we have left will be filled with happy memories, hope and warmth. 

Isn't that why I spent a decade of lots of the sacrament of reconciliation, spiritual direction, and therapy to be able to do? It's gotta be one of the reasons at least.

Lord knows how I am screwing up our kids. I'm not sure what gift, if any, they'll really remember in their adulthood. Their lives are so... provided for. I realize I am part of the providing forces, but it sometimes amazes me how much they HAVE and yet how much more they want! It feels decadent and hollow somehow. But I don't know how to share in the depth that is Christmas with them amidst all the distractions, all the STUFF. I don't know if they value anything they receive. It's appalling to me the throwaway attitude I sense in them. I grew up really trying to take care of everything I had to prolong their usefulness and to just save. I don't know how to motivate our kids to do likewise. I feel like that would be a better gift than any of the toys or games we give them each year for Christmas and birthdays.

Shortbread binge

 I had been craving shortbread for at least a week. So after a very productive work from home day today, I took a little break around 3:30 to bake.

Confession: I don't follow recipes very well. 

I did look at some recipes online since I had never baked shortbread before. But in the end, I basically put the following into the ninja: 1.75 cups unbleached all-purpose flour, half cup cane sugar, 1 cup of cold unsalted butter (diced into small cubes), 1/4 tsp salt, 1 tsp real vanilla extract. Cookie dough setting, go! Followed by some pulsing and then just took it out and used my hands. Roll out, cookie cutter out, place spaced on cookie sheets then chill in fridge for about a half hour. Bake at 350 for 12-15 minutes depending on the sheet (I have two kinds and the darker one always bakes faster). Cool on sheets (another confession: I ate like 3 right out of the oven to test for poison and to see if I still have feeling on my lips or can I feel the burn??). Transfer to cooling rack after 10-15 minutes (polished off about a quarter of the batch in transfer and another quarter when placing in a container for storage at the end of the night).

The kids got a taste and I lack self restraint, so we don't have many cookies left for the morrow.  

Instagram story

Whilst chilling and baking, work work work. Me multi-tasking means I'm feeling much better after the chemo.

Food aesthetics is another thing I don't do well. I mean I basically cookie monstered half the batch while making. Does it matter that they didn't hold their flowery shape? In the end they ended up looking like twisted off bottle caps. Something to remember if I ever host an UP themed party... 

I occasionally have thoughts regarding my death these days, or perhaps it is really about death in general. I hope, whenever it happens, the people I leave behind will be OK. I hope we won't have regrets or love left unexpressed. I hope they'll move on, maybe miss me but not miss out.

I try not to dwell on it for too long though. So far I have discerned that I am to direct my efforts towards survival and living for a while longer. It entails suffering, but... that's life.

So... shortbread but not too often because they're really not healthy. 

Patience, Advent, and my new 40s adventure

F #adulting

I will blog like a 20-year-old!

No, I won't because I really don't have the kind of confusion and soul-bearing vulnerability that I did back then. But I recently read this article in The Atlantic and decided... I like to write. About myself. I haven't done it in a long time because #parenting #worklife #momlife and now a global pandemic and #cancer treatment. Well, too bad so sad I'm going to make time for myself and well-being and do it anyway.

The other day, my son--to prove his point that people don't end up fulfilling their dreams--asked me what I had wanted to be, as a little girl, when I grew up. Dangit! Kids are too smart these days. I told him I had wanted to be a writer, to which he gave me the look of "See?? You aren't a writer and dreams suck." Ugh, heartbreaking. I attempted to defend myself by saying, "I write a lot in my job... on behalf of the bishop and the Church and for people..." blah blah yeah, it was a sad moment and a little soul-crushing for both of us. Luckily, he does not dwell on the negatives for too long and was back to ninja slashing his sister shortly. And both his father and I have been restraining ourselves to be gentle with his dream of becoming... a ninja. For the past 3 years, that has been his dream, and I honestly don't know how to tell him that is not likely going to work out. Not as a career, anyway. Maybe as a hobby... if it doesn't land him in jail or something.

Anyway, back to writing about myself. 

Yesterday was the second Sunday of Advent, and I had another good cry in the shower. (The shower is a great place to ugly cry because no one can see or hear you.) Ever since we (ok, I--it was me ALL ME AND MY UTERUS OK??) miscarried the twins, December has been a bitter month. I try not to make a big deal out of it, because I remember when I used to work at Raph and would be walking on eggshells every December due to Fr. Mark (...not my grief story so no need for details here). I don't want people to feel bad about it. I have a little monologue I go through for myself (with or without crying depending on whether or not I'm in the shower) and then I am ready to move on. And I know it's not my fault despite my earlier parenthetical outburst (sorry). Grief is... sticky. Every December I seem to find another sticky spot that I need to run under some warm water to rub off. 

They would have been 2 years old this month.

I'm not able to speak cogently about abortion when I think about the twins. In the dangerous space of my head, it was a weird few days/weeks in the lead-up to the Dobbs case earlier this month. My inbox was flooding with action alerts, prayer alerts, notifications from the USCCB and other Catholic outlets. It was all over my social media from both sides. But in the dangerous space of my head, concepts like "choice" and "viability" just do not register in May/June, or December with respect to this issue. Sorry. 

My husband and I had discussed not long ago how the loss of the twins has been more painful than this cancer diagnosis. So far, this cancer has been presented to us as "treatable." Yes, I will have long-term side effects and have exposed myself to all kinds of risks that may blow up later. But it still feels somewhat reversible. The twins, on the other hand, are gone. Nothing will bring them back. Even if we can have more kids, which it sounds like we probably won't, no future children could replace the ones we lost. So... that sucks more.

Anyway, back to Advent. So much could be said about this liturgical season, but I will just say this for now... this year has been different. The holiday season as a cancer patient is... eye-opening. "What do you want for Christmas?" Seriously? I WANT TO BE CANCER-FREE FOREVER AND EVER AND EVER. I never want to smell the adhesive that keeps everything attached to me when I have the infusion bottle for 2 days every chemo cycle. I hate hospitals forever and ever and ever! I never want to taste a saline flush again. I want my tastebuds back. I WANT TO LIVE MY LIFE, not just exist.

Fr. Alex asked us how we are preparing for Christ Mass this year. I am staying alive and praying for patience. I am struggling to be a good patient. I HATE THIS. I can't even describe how frustrating it is to have to rest in bed. To feel nauseous and gassy and gross. To be lethargic and brain dead. To not be able to complete the NYT crossword! I never check my kids' homework. I can't start any new projects for work. I am just stuck like old silly putty... onto hospital chairs, needles, and toxic drugs that kill white blood cells. 

I'm not sure I've ever been terribly consumed by the material aspects of the holiday season (at least not in adulthood). Sure, I enjoy silly gift exchanges, shopping in a decorated mall, NSync's Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, and getting gold embossed cards from friends near and far (especially since many of us have had kids... so fun to see genetics at work!). I've been a good since-Kindergarten Catholic who has celebrated Advent with the proper liturgical colors and observances in remembrance of the 1st coming and preparation for the 2nd coming. I am faithfully passing this on to my kids as best as I can. 

But this year, I for sure am WAITING on a whole other level. ANTICIPATION has new meaning for me. And while yes, it is for the coming of Christ, it is also for me to be made whole again. Bodily whole. My flesh. I realize it won't happen for Christmas, but it will eventually, one way or the other. 

Last anyway, apologies for the feisty tone of this post and its length. It has been a hot minute since I've really done this in a dedicated posture. Also, I've been trying to stay in bed all day and have all this pent-up frustration but no energy to dispel it bodily or with higher level critical thinking. I will try to ungrit my teeth for the next post and keep things nice and concise. 

30 til 40

In 30 days, I celebrate a milestone. Unsurprisingly, I have been pensive these last few months as I approach my 40th birthday. I don't get a lot of time to pause and reflect, and the inhumane level of multi-tasking I was attempting during the pandemic does not help. Slowly I am weaning myself from that (although the brain damage has been done imho). Maybe putting words together like this, like I used to do so profusely in my 20s, will help.

The other day I was thinking back to the past decade, only to realize I was in fact thinking about two decades ago. Time is warped in my memory. If my 20s were a meandering in the desert, my 30s were a slightly too long sprint on an unevenly paved track, culminating in a run through a sick carnival fun house that I'm not sure we're actually out of yet. There were a lot of fun parts, and a lot of joy and blessing. After thirty years of feeling like a discombobulated entity, I was living that integrated life that I so longed for as a college student. It hasn't been all easy, but it has been relieving and at ease. Not sure if that makes sense, but there it is.

To be sure, there is a lot more wisdom and experience to be gained as I look forward. My thoughts are still much like that slightly contrary teen of my youth, but I hold my tongue and listen more. I look forward to a later time when I will know how best to put forth what I perceive and process. It's nice to have one's frontal lobes and prefrontal cortex more fully developed though. My gosh what a difference it makes! But the thought that my brain has peaked or is peaking and it's all downhill from soon... that is pretty dreadful.

Ten years ago, I was apparently reading Anthony de Mello's Awareness. "I'm an Ass, You're an Ass. That’s the most liberating, wonderful thing in the world, when you openly admit you’re an ass. It’s wonderful." This is a humorously sobering reminder as I attempt to raise children now. There is nothing so humiliating as learning about the heart of God as I parent. It is horrifying and the most splendid thing at the same time. Exasperation mixed with awe. 

I still trust in that higher power. Our relationship has evolved greatly over the past decade. I struggle to feel the intimacy moreso than before, but I know we're still together. The signs are different. Probably I am different.

I am different. I am now JI. HAHA